


Out of the Freezer

by Avice



Series: Love is Round the Corner [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A Bit of Slash, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Greg needs some loving too, Het, Jealousy, Love, M/M, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:46:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avice/pseuds/Avice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg has just been to Baker Street and has found out that John and Sherlock are now lovers. He is feeling lonely.</p><p>Continuation to The Battle in the Palace, but stands alone, if for some reason you don’t want to know how John and Sherlock ended up together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Freezer

Greg left Baker Street feeling strangely melancholic. He wasn’t one to pity himself, but the fact that a self-confessed sociopath found love when he had no one just didn’t seem fair. 

The thought of returning to the empty flat with the telly for company wasn’t inviting. There was nothing interesting at the office either. He wasn’t desperate enough to turn to paperwork just yet. 

Perhaps he should drop by the mortuary, see if Molly already had some results on today’s victim. It wasn’t like she had a life either.

”Hallo Molly, how are you?”  
He kissed her on the cheeks. 

Their working relationship had developed more towards a friendship lately with the odd evening here and there spent in Baker Street. Albeit few and far between, they had still provided a chance to meet less formally and slowly move from being strictly colleagues to mates. 

”Hello Greg, I’m good, you?”

”Good, good. Just decided to drop by to see if you’d have anything on today’s murder victim already.”

”Why, yes, now, it’s really quite interesting. Even I haven’t seen bruising like that before. Or not very often,” she explained enthusiastically. ”Do you want to see the body?”

”Yes, please.”

They went in to the cold room, where Molly located the correct freezer and pulled out the corpse.

"I thought, maybe, Sherlock would come. I’m sure he’d love these incisions," she mused as she uncovered the body.

"He might come by tomorrow. Right now he's busy with John.” Greg tried to clarify: ”They're busy with each other.”

"They have another case? That's good for Sherlock. He always gets so grumpy if he’s bored. Not that he isn't always grumpy. I mean... I don't mean..." she went on, not wanting Greg to get the impression that Sherlock would ever be grumpy.

Greg was at the end of his tether. First interrupting an enviable domestic scene, then coming over to Molly hung up on Sherlock. He could not catch a break. Why couldn’t Molly just get over Sherlock and finally notice him? Fat chance.

"Molly, they're busy fu-" he cried out, but stopped himself just in time. He didn’t want to cause Molly any more pain than necessary. 

He took a deep breath, calmed down. "They're a proper couple now. At long last."

"Oh," she started fiddling with the bone saw aimlessly. "That's... That's good isn't it? I'm so happy for them. Both of them. Yes. John's a nice guy, isn't he? Very nice. Right? Or what do you think?"

Greg sighed. Of the two of them he certainly wasn't worried whether John would treat Sherlock right.  
"John's a great guy. I'm sure he'll take good care of Sherlock."

"You think so, do you? I’m glad. Yes. I’m very glad. Though I... I never thought Sherlock would be gay... Always such a flirt, wasn't he? He was. John, of course, obviously," Molly giggled nervously.

Greg shrugged, nodded. John, gay, everyone knew that. Hardly.  
"Look, Molly, you wouldn't want to go out for a drink, would you?"

"Me? Why, yes. Of course. I can go for a drink. Yes. With you, you mean?"

Greg spread his arms.  
”With me.”

After packing up the body, they went to Molly’s local. 

On their second drink the discussion still revolved around the wonderful Mr Holmes and the dubious Dr Watson.

”John’s a bit brusque with him sometimes, don’t you think?”

”He speaks his mind,” Greg agreed.

”It’s a bit rude, isn’t it? I mean... Sherlock’s... well, you have to understand him. Do you think John does? I don’t think... I mean, he doesn’t always.”

Greg was starting to doubt whether this was any better than being home alone.

”Molly,” he said. ”Sherlock is in love with John. They are together. In fact, I think they are _perfect_ for each other. Though I’m not sure what crime John has committed to deserve Sherlock, but he is the _only one_ who has ever had any control over the man’s raving. End of story. Sherlock is not into you.”

Molly looked like she had been hit and her lower lip started shaking. 

”I’m sorry, Molly. I didn’t mean that, ” he patted her arm. He should have kept his gob shut. It was not Molly’s fault he felt so lonely. ”I’m really sorry.” He stroked her hand.  
“It’s been a long day. What I meant was, can we talk about something else?”

She stared at the table, sniffed.  
”Like what?”

”Like... you. Tell me about yourself.”

”Me?” she was astonished.

”You. For example: what do you do when you’re not cutting open dead bodies?”

”Well. Nothing. I mean. I have a cat. And a window box. With herbs and some flowers in it.”

”Really? I never knew. What herbs?”

Turned out Molly had quite a green thumb, the city not being the best place to make use of it. Her parents had a big garden and she had pottered about it since she was a child. Greg loved to cook, so they conversed at length on the different uses of basil, coriander and oregano, and wondered whether Molly should also plant some mint or perhaps dill, or possibly go for something more exotic like Thai basil. 

”Why don’t I cook for you some time? With your herbs?” Greg suggested.

”Would you? No one’s ever... that would be nice. I’d like that.”

When Greg brought in the third round it seemed only natural he should sit next to Molly instead of opposite her.

”What about you, Greg? What do you do when you´re not _detecting_?” she simpered. 

”Pah, nothing. Sit at home moping,” he admitted cheerfully. 

”And... how are things with your wife?”

” _Ex_ -wife. Ex. Divorce finalised, reconciliation attempts suffered through.”

”I’m sorry to hear that.”

”No, no. Good riddance, if you ask me. Some things just aren’t meant to be, no matter how hard you try.”

“I suppose so. Though it would be nice, wouldn’t it? To make things work just because you want to.”

The pub was getting quite rowdy. Greg’s arm was extended over the back of their bench and as he leaned in to better hear Molly, his hand effortlessly fell on her shoulder.

”So... Are you seeing anybody?” Greg asked her. 

”No, no, there’s no one.”

“There should be. You have such a lovely smile. And a great,” body, no, that’s never a good idea at this point, ”mind. You’re really smart. I like that.”

She blushed charmingly.  
”Thanks.”

As he was already this close to Molly, it was a matter of course that he should kiss her. She tasted of lager, breath mints. Her lips shy, hesitant. He stroked her cheek. She was so pretty. 

Molly put her hand on Greg’s thigh, caressed it nervously. She wasn’t sure. But then she never was, was she? Unless it was about work. Or Sherlock. Greg was nice. He really was. And handsome. And she knew who he was. There would be no nasty surprises. And Sherlock was gay. 

The second kiss was more confident. Lips parted, tongues found each other, passed over lips, brushed onto one another. They found a common flow easily, no awkward discords. Their mouths comfortable with each other. 

Greg’s hand was on Molly’s neck, she was caressing his side, both trying to get a little bit closer. The drink helping in forgetting the surroundings. Their kissing full of want, longing, timid dreams.

It had been a long time since Greg had felt the kind of arousal that now overtook him. He wanted Molly. She was beautiful. She tasted good, her lips. She _did_ have a lovely figure.

The feeling was mutual. Being wanted was exciting. Being touched. Touching. She wanted to feel skin. She wanted to feel someone against her. As Greg’s mouth tasted hers, hand fondling her nape, Molly felt a warm rush in her. She could, couldn’t she? Greg was nice. 

”It’s getting late, I think I better head home,” Molly said.

”Of course. Yeah, let’s go,” Greg pulled back.

”Would you like to come over for a cup of tea?” Molly asked, the drink making her brave, Greg making her feel confident.

”Sure,” Greg smirked.

Both all smiles as they walked out. The giddy excitement of a night full of promise. A surge of happiness.

Greg draped his arm over Molly’s shoulder, pulled her close. Pecked her lips. She wrapped her arm around his waist, under the coat. Squeezing Greg’s side.

Was she using him to get even with Sherlock? To convince herself she didn’t care? Probably. Greg didn’t really mind. He had always fancied Molly. Wondered what she saw in Sherlock. Well, if he really wanted to know, he could now ask John. He shuddered, he didn’t really want to know.

Greg stopped, took Molly in his arms. Kissed her good and long. She trembled, let out a small aroused sigh as they parted.

”You’re beautiful.”

She smiled. Yes, she would.

\---

As Molly opened the door, Greg nibbled her neck. She was shivering. He brushed his hand over her breast. Pressed close to her.

They stepped inside. As the door closed they both became more self-conscious. This was it. It would really happen. If they both wanted to.

Greg had never been at Molly’s. The cat Toby made a tour around him, eyed him suspiciously before returning to his interrupted nap on the sofa. 

She had a small kitchen/sitting room and an even tinier bedroom, which had just enough room for a double bed. 

”Tea?”  
”Please.”

Molly turned the kettle on. Looked for the tea bags. Greg took her hand. Pulled her close. They would. He kissed her.

Hands didn’t need to behave anymore. She put hers under Greg’s shirt. Skin, warm, smooth. Hair on the small of his back. Soft. Muscle under his shoulder blades. She traced her hands to his sides. Pulled the shirt over his head. No reason to be shy now. The hairs on his chest also greying. She stroked them, kissed his neck. 

He caressed her hips, started unbuttoning her blouse kissing the hollow between her collarbones, tracing the curve of her breast with his finger. Soft kisses along her neck. Last button. 

He tucked at the sleeves and let the blouse fall. Kissed her on the lips and let his hand wander higher from her waist.

He kissed the white lace of Molly’s bra as his hands moved to her back. Over twenty years of practise and still the excited fingers had trouble with opening a bra. Molly laughed quietly. The fumbling was worth it, just hearing that laugh.

Her bra fell on the floor. He cupped her breast, his thumb tickling a nipple, feeling it grow hard under his touch. He leaned in, took it in his mouth, the other hand playing with the other nipple. 

Molly trembled. Feeling the force of her arousal in her panties.

As Greg’s tongue passed over her breast, Molly’s grip on his hair tightened. She was afraid she’d fall. 

It was wonderful. Eyes closed, head tilted backwards. She pressed his head closer. Willed the suction harder, the hand rougher.

She pushed him away, took his hand and dragged after her to the bedroom. 

They fell on the bed kissing passionately. She got on top of him, bit his chest playfully. 

Greg rolled her over and filled his mouth with her breast. Sucking, almost too hard, just right. She moaned. Yes, he knew what he was doing. 

His lips moved lower, hungry, determined. Hands opening her jeans. Hurry. She lifted her hips, let him undress her, jeans, panties, socks coming off in a bundle. 

“You are gorgeous,” he sighed. 

He kissed her hip bones, caressed the insides of her thighs. She was hardly containing herself with want. 

Finally. As Greg licked her she let out a little scream. Not surprise, fulfilment. 

She was soaking wet. His tongue playing on her clit. She bit her own fist, hips moving with Greg’s mouth, into Greg’s mouth. Gasping, moaning. Greg driving her crazy, pleasure building in her, a steady ecstasy. His finger entered her. She heard the sound of her own heat as his fingers moved inside her. Unbearable. 

She pushed Greg off, got a hold of his trousers. How come he still had them on?

“Christ, Molly, you’re so hot.”

“You’re making me.”

She tasted herself on Greg’s lips. Belt, shaking fingers struggling with it. Open, pants down. She pulled back to look. Moistened her lips, took Greg’s cock in her hand. Stroked.

Greg arched his back.  
“Jesus, Moll,” he groaned.

She leaned in, teasing, licked just the wet tip of him. Couldn’t wait. 

She reached over to the drawer and got a condom, wrapped it on him and lay on her back. Looked into his eyes. Come. Spread her legs, knees up. 

He leaned down, kissed her, gently now. 

Careful, in. Tight, wet, hot. He gasped. Their eyes met. She gasped. Slippery.

She bucked her hips. 

Divine. Easy, almost shy pushes. 

Lips on lips, aimless, wanting to touch, to feel. To taste you.

“Shit, I don’t think I’ll last long.”

“Me neither.” 

She wrapped her legs around him, pulled him deeper, pushed her hips up, hands on his neck. Slow, he was trying to hold on. She took a hold of his arse. Faster. 

Lips locked, pressing against each other. 

Faster, harder. Fuck me, Greg. 

He did. She hung on to him tightly. Their bodies moving in unison, riding for the same mark.

The bright wave hit her, shook her, made her whimper Greg’s name. 

She let go relieved, arms spread wide, let her hips work Greg. Let them take him. He cursed, shuddered. Came.

“Christ,” she murmured still trembling. Wanted to shout. Kissed him.

Greg pulled her close, wrapped arms around her. Sweaty. She licked his shoulder. Salty.

“That was good,” she whispered.

“Yes, definitely. You’re amazing.”

“You’re not so bad either,” she smiled. 

They slept naked. 

Sometime during the night she woke up to his hot kisses on her neck, gentle hands on her body. 

Slow, languid love as Greg entered her from behind. Lips kissing, nibbling her nape as he fondled her clit and breasts, pinched nipples. Fucking her until she rode waves of orgasms, pressing a pillow to her face to muffle the cries, fearing she’d go mad from pleasure.

\---

The cruel light of morning.

It’s not cruel until you open your eyes. 

She traced her fingers over his chest. He kissed her. 

She got up to make coffee. He fried eggs. It was cosy. The spell was broken.

Greg was the braver one. Cleared his throat.  
“I had a really… I really like you, Molly.”

“I… me, too.” She paused. “It’s just that… I… I’ve had... a serious crush twice: on a criminal mastermind and. Well, I suppose, a gay sociopath. Not that he really is a sociopath.” (“Yeah, I know he isn’t.”) “I would like to... I mean, I’m not sure I can...”

”Right, I understand. I do. Could we… Why don’t we keep things casual and see where this goes, ok?”

”That’s a good idea. I mean, I do want to see you. And you should... we should do that cooking thing.”

”Yeah, let’s do that. I’ll... text you?”

”Sure. You have my number? Do you? Of course you do, you call me all the time. At work, I mean. With work. So, you do know it.”

She was so goofy sometimes. It was lovely. He pecked her lips.  
”I have it. I’ll text you.” 

Greg left smiling. He felt good. You never know with these things. But he really, really liked Molly. And last night had been really, really amazing. He wanted to see where this could go. 

He hoped she would be ready. Bloody Sherlock, messing with her mind. On purpose, no doubt. He was like that. Never thought how he affected others.

\---

It took another day before John and Sherlock made it to the mortuary in the late afternoon. Not that they actually wanted to leave the bed, but they were both feeling a bit sore by now, and a stretch of the legs seemed like a good idea.

John was curious about the wounds, too. Although not as curious as Sherlock of course, who took some samples and proceeded to examine them at the lab.

Molly was busy with her own work. For once she felt calm around Sherlock. She hadn’t even stuttered. They had texted with Greg. He was coming over that night to make pappardelle with lamb.

The change in her didn’t go unnoticed.

”So, Lestrade? Hmph, well, I suppose you could do worse,” Sherlock remarked.

”Sherlock...” John was quickly up to speed, his tone cautioning Sherlock to stay of the topic.

But Molly held her head up high.  
”Yes. I’ve been seeing Greg. He is very nice. He cooks,” she spoke confidently.

”Oh, _Greg_ cooks,” Sherlock raised an eyebrow amused and turned to John, who was quite unaffected, looking at some bruising on an arm.

”He does. And... anyway, it’s none of your business,” Molly said defiantly.

”You’re right, it’s not,” John agreed. He was not too keen to discuss his own love life and was only happy to extend the courtesy to others. 

Sherlock’s interest, as expected, had already returned to the specimens he was studying.

“Sherlock, do you need me? I have a couple of errands to run,” John asked.

_I always need you._

Sherlock grunted non-committally. 

“Great. You know how to reach me,” John said.

John hovered a minute.  
“See you back home then.”  
He would kiss a girlfriend before leaving. But Sherlock was hunched over his work, not even making eye-contact. 

As he left, John walked past Sherlock, brushed his shoulder in goodbye. A hand grabbed his, fingers laced, and Sherlock pulled him close almost violently. For the briefest second lips touched his, a forehead rested on his. Sherlock closed his eyes, took a deep breath and just as suddenly the grip was let go. 

Sherlock remained posture unchanged looking through the lens of the microscope as if he hadn’t moved.

John blushed at the intimacy. Suppose with time he would get used to the strange experience of loving and being loved by Sherlock. What that entailed in public places had so far been a complete mystery.

He cleared his throat as he walked towards the door. Molly was inconspicuously bent over a folder pretending to read.

“Bye, Molly.”

“See you, John.” 

\---

Molly and Sherlock worked side by side in silence. She felt uncommonly comfortable in his presence.

“Molly, run these samples.”

“I can’t, Sherlock, I’m in the middle of –“

Sherlock looked at her. No? He opened his eyes wide, flashed a brief smile.  
“Please.”

“Well, all right,” she agreed helplessly, face flushed.

She was just finishing with Sherlock’s request, when Greg came in.

He was taken aback in seeing Sherlock there. The two of them next to each other, staring at the screen.

“Greg! I didn’t know you were coming,” Molly beamed at him and pecked his cheeks innocently.

He nodded a hi at Sherlock, who just waved his hand.

“Thought I’d pick you up. Walk you home.”

“Oh, I’m not ready yet,” she admitted embarrassed.

“No? But I thought you said…?”

“Yes. Well. I ran a sample for Sherlock. So I’m a bit late with my own work.”  
She didn’t meet Greg’s eyes.

But Sherlock did, smiled wide at Greg. 

The bastard.

“Is that so?” Greg grumbled. “But I’ve already done the shopping,” he said, lifting a bag of groceries higher.

“I won’t be long. I’m so sorry. You can put them in the fridge here.”

“With the body parts?”

“Yes. It’s quite sterile. More hygienic than a common household fridge.”

“She is right,” Sherlock chimed in and got up. “Well, I best be off. I’m sure John won’t be cooking.” 

Greg felt like sticking his tongue out, when Sherlock strode past him. Ass.

"You know you don't really have to take orders from him?" he said to Molly.

"I know, it's just... Well, he needs my help sometimes." 

Greg shrugged. Suppose so. His need for a nice evening with her apparently was secondary. 

No, casual, remember. Do not take offence, she will only resent petty jealousy. They have always been like this; it won’t change just because of one ( _amazing_ ) night. He tried to look unaffected and cheerful. 

"Anything for me to do while I wait?" 

"Actually, yes, I do have a couple of reports I was going to send you, if you want to read them now."

"Sounds wonderful," he sighed.

As she handed them over her hand rested on Greg's a little longer than necessary. The night might turn out alright.

\---

It was in the end not such a bad idea to read the reports with Molly there. He could ask his questions and make his notes right away, which meant he would be able to close two cases first thing on Monday. Not a bad start for a week. 

They were nothing special – drunken and drugged out brawls gone too far, the perpetrators already locked up with the reports only confirming the rest of the evidence. Routine paperwork.

It didn't take too long for them to be able to leave. As soon as they were out, Molly slipped her hand in Greg's, smiled coyly. He pulled her close, under his arm. Couldn’t help his happy, carefree smile. It was casual as long as he knew it was, right?

The meal was a success. 

Greg handed Molly a glass of wine and she sat by the table as he cooked. Neither one of them could remember later precisely what they had talked about. But the discussion was lively, witty, funny. The kind of chatting that makes one feel all warm inside. Where agreements are obvious, disagreements insignificant, and the alertness of the partner constant, flattering. Where what is said is interesting and important. Even when it’s stupid.

Although Greg insisted it was a really simple dish, Molly was still impressed with his abilities in the kitchen. She wasn't much of a cook. She got her measure of cutting and chopping at work and couldn't be bothered with at home. Not a vegetarian, she still preferred not to cook meat as there was something too familiar in handling it. She made the odd salad now and then, and spiced up her take-away with fresh herbs.

For pudding Greg made a simple dish of berries and custard. Molly liked seeing the patience and care with which he stirred the mixture until it thickened. Perfect.

"That was lovely. I'm stuffed," she said.

"It's nice having someone to cook for. Can't bother for only myself."

“You’re welcome to cook for me any time.”

Greg raised an eye-brow in question. She smiled. 

Toby was forced to give up the sofa as they sat on it. Greg took Molly under his arm. She nuzzled against him. Sighed. 

It felt good. Being close to someone. Hearing a heartbeat next to your ear. Feeling the chest move with Greg’s breath. She had her arm over his waist, fondling his abdomen absent-mindedly. So warm and safe.

He kissed the top of head. Rested his lips against it. 

Molly. You are lovely. 

She looked up. He kissed her. 

Their lips were not going to settle for cosy. A current of arousal ran through them as they touched. 

I want you. 

A tongue on lips. A peck of lower lip. A hard pull. Tongues.

I want you.

Greg pulled Molly in his lap. Tore of her shirt, stripped off her bra. Buried his face between her breasts. She cried out, closed her eyes. Started pulling off Greg’s sweater. Pressed her breasts against Greg’s bare chest. Kissing, touching. Tiny bites.

Hurry.

She got up. Undid her trousers, let them fall around her ankles. 

And slowly, slowly, hips rocking from side to side, small circles, she took off her panties. Slid her finger inside of her. A whimper. Spread her moist around her labia, clit. 

Greg stared transfixed. She really knew how to drive him crazy. 

He got up to take off his pants. To kiss her. Their mouths not getting enough of each other. 

A condom on. He sat down, pulled her in his lap. Pushed inside her. 

She bit her lip. Bit his shoulder. He gasped. 

She rode him. Fast, deep. More.

Bit his neck as she came quavering. 

He didn’t let her rest. Lifted them up, pressed her against the coffee table and knelt in front of her. Cock inside of her all the time. Fucked her. 

Slowly at first, let her calm down, let her build up again. Fondling her clit, kissing her breasts. Her lips. 

When she was moaning with want again, he pushed in hard. The table squeaking. Holding on to her hips. Her legs over his shoulders, letting him in, all the way in. 

She screamed as they came together. Shaking. Cursing. Jesus Christ. Lights out. Lights blazing. 

\---

They continued like that. A couple of nights a week going to the movies, having dinner. A photography exhibition of Molly’s pal. (“Here’s Greg, he’s a friend of mine.” Her other friends smirking. Friend indeed.) And afterwards a night at Molly’s. Wondering whether the neighbours would complain soon. 

Greg was falling in love. He couldn’t help it. Trying to convince his heart of casual was not working. She was smart, funny. They had such enlightening, interesting conversations. They both knew how to listen. How to talk.

She understood his work, why he had to leave sometimes in the middle of the night. Even in the middle of naked things. 

The naked things were brilliant. Fantastic. Unbelievable. She certainly knew human anatomy and wasn’t afraid of showing it.

Bloody Sherlock. Well. Greg didn’t know for sure of course. She didn’t really mention him anymore. Or if she did, it was strictly work-related. There was no gushing. 

But Sherlock was always hanging around her. (All right, to be honest, not exactly _always_. Once, twice a week if that. Whenever there was an interesting enough body, or he needed to borrow some special equipment he didn’t have at Baker Street. She, of course, always let him.) So Greg didn’t really know what she felt. But he suspected. Which, as he knew from experience, was much, much worse. 

And of course it wasn’t ‘bloody Sherlock’ as much as ‘bloody Molly’s-feelings-for-Sherlock’, since Sherlock was clearly very happy with John. It was evident. There was that special aura about them that lends itself to lovers. A blissful harmony. 

If John and Sherlock had understood each other exceptionally well before, it seemed they hardly needed to speak any longer. On crime scenes they passed glances. Little nods. John’s meaningful cough. Sherlock’s rambling was more and more in the nature of internal monologue and even less actual communication. At some point the two of them always smiled in understanding, turned to leave, and probably would have forgotten to fill Greg in, if he hadn’t stood in their way. 

No, Sherlock wasn’t a real cause for jealousy. Just a shadow of one. Greg tried to grin and bear it best he could.

Some days he was able to be happy with what he had. He did have Molly, sometimes. It had to be enough for now. 

On other days he was distressed, even afraid of the future. He wasn’t sure his heart could take one more breaking. The pieces had been hard enough to find since the last time. 

Occasionally he opened his mouth to say something. To declare his feelings. But shut it seeing Molly’s careless and happy face. Maybe. He didn’t want to jeopardise what he had now. Didn’t want to risk losing it. 

\---

It was one of those rainy days, when you really must have someone to cuddle with by the fire or you will feel desperately alone. With that in mind Greg and Molly had made plans for a night in. They would get naked (first things first), and afterwards order in and watch a DVD.

The day had been quiet at work for Molly. Sherlock dropped by in the afternoon to poke about a recent corpse. The case had been solved, but he was interested in further details. 

Greg had come over, too, to browse through some reports. He had some questions he needed to talk over with Molly while he read, and they would leave together. 

Sherlock strode in to the lab with a sample as they were leaving, having spent enough time with the badly disfigured victim.

“Did you pack her up?” Molly asked.

“Me?” Sherlock was almost offended by the question.

“Yes, you. The bodies need to be put back in the freezer, you know.”

“But… _I_ never do that.”

“Well, now’s a good time to start. Come on, I’ll show you how.”

Sherlock followed her out of sheer shock. He couldn’t believe it would be up to _him_ to return bodies to the freezer. 

Not hiding his indignation he followed Molly’s instructions, and the victim was successfully placed in her current resting place.

If this was the treatment he was going to get from now on, Sherlock would have to find another mortuary!

Things got even worse as they were back in the lab, Greg already waiting by the door. Molly took off her white coat and picked up her jacket and bag.

“You can’t leave!” Sherlock exclaimed.

“Of course I can. Five thirty. My day is done,” Molly confirmed.

“But… I need you to run the blood work for me!”

“Is there a life depending on it?”

“Yes,” he pouted.

“Right now? Someone will die if I don’t do it this instant?”

“Technically not right now,” Sherlock had to admit with Greg there to blow his cover, if he would lie. “But maybe in the future, if I don’t get the results.”

“In that case time isn’t an issue, is it? I’ll get down to it tomorrow or you can just do it yourself. You know how to use all the equipment, don’t you?”

Sherlock was stunned. Speechless. Too dazed to even try saying ‘please’. Of course he knew how to use the equipment! That was hardly the point. What was going on with Molly? Why would she do this to him?

“Remember to lock up, when you’re done, okay? Bye then!”

This time it was Greg’s turn to smile wide at Sherlock. 

\---

“John?”

John looked up from his book.

“I think Molly’s gone mad.”

“Really?” This was interesting.

“I’m sure of it.”

“Why, what’s happened?”

“She refused to help me. She made me put a body in the freezer.”

John grinned.  
“Good for her. Don’t worry, it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“I smiled at her, John! And still she made me run all the tests. On my own.”

John put the book down. This demanded his full attention. Lessons in humanity part… well, he’d lost count.

“She’s just not into you anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“She helped you with anything you asked, because she had a crush on you. She doesn’t anymore.”

“But… she has fancied me since… always.”

“Sorry, hon, she is over you.”

Sherlock sat down in his chair thoroughly shaken. Did this mean that…

“Does this mean that she won’t help me even if I smile and say please?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“How could this happen?”

“It’s not difficult to _deduce_ , Sherlock. You turned out gay, took a man as your lover. That alone should make an intelligent woman like Molly to think twice about her warm, fuzzy feelings towards you. Also, lucky for her, she found a good man to comfort her. Someone who is also interested in her. She’s in love with Greg, Sherlock.”

“In _love_ with him?”

“Yes, I’d say so.”

“But he’s… he’s an idiot, John!”

“Right. Well, my idiocy doesn’t stop you from loving me, does it? Love’s funny like that.”

“Well, no, but. You’re you. He’s just… _Lestrade_.” He said the name as that alone should explain how unworthy of love Greg was. 

Sherlock processed the information. This was indeed disturbing. 

“What about my work?”

“What about it?”

“If they continue with this… love thing,” Sherlock said the word in distaste. He wasn’t comfortable with using it in any other context but him and John. “The work will suffer. She won’t do what I tell her to. I am used to her input. It leaves me free to think.”

“What exactly did she say? That she won’t help you ever again?”

“No. She said she would help me _tomorrow_ , if there were no lives in immediate danger.”

“See? You won’t lose her help. You just need to learn some patience.”

Sherlock groaned. Now, that was a word he hated. 

He was trying to fit all this information on human behaviour somewhere. It was so confusing and irrational. Surely, if one has a crush… He jumped up from his chair.

“John!” he was angry now.

“What?” John asked surprised.

“Are you going to fall out of love with me?!”

“Of course not. Why would you think that?” These discussions sure kept John on his toes.

“Why? _Obviously_ because Molly was in love with me and now she is not!”

Sherlock’s logic often failed rather spectacularly when it came to human emotions. 

“It’s completely different, Sherlock. “

“How?”

“Because I _love_ you. Her crush, or love, if you want to call it that, was just a one-sided fantasy. She needed to move on to something real. You want Molly to be happy, don’t you?”

“Suppose so,” he grumbled.

“And for that she needed to get over you. It’s not going to happen with us. Our love is real. My love for you is real. Built on actually knowing and accepting the good and the bad in you, not closing my eyes to either one.” 

Did it make sense? It did.  
“Oh,” Sherlock understood. “You mean the part about me being an annoying dick?”

“Precisely. Just one of the things I love about you,” John got up.

“And she didn’t?”

“No. She didn’t believe you were,” John put his fingers through Sherlock’s belt loops.

“Hah – well, she’s certainly wrong about that.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Not real,” he pulled Sherlock close. 

“Talking about dicks… also something of yours she didn’t have a clue about,” he kissed Sherlock’s neck.

“You certainly have mastered handling that,” Sherlock said before their lips met.

“Mmm… I’m not sure. I think I could use more practise.”

Although very much disagreeing with John’s assessment of his skills, Sherlock was not going to argue. Now would be a good time to try the floor. 

\---

Greg and Molly were wrapped in each other. Warm and sweaty as they waited for the food to arrive.

“Would you say that…” Greg began. 

“Yes?”

“What I’m saying is… do you think that…” He didn’t want to bring Sherlock up now, but he wanted to know whether... “I mean, I’ve just wondered about your feelings…”

“Oh.”

She smiled in encouragement.

“I’m trying to say… I know we said casual.” Pause. He glanced at her worried. She still smiled. ”But…” Deep breath, courage. “It’s not casual for me anymore.” 

He rolled to his side to look at her.  
“I love you, Moll.”

“I love you too, Greg,” she answered without hesitation. 

“Do you? Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

He kissed her.

“That’s great. Excellent.”

“I think so, too.” 

It was a perfect night for lying in the arms of a lover and listening to the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> That's it: my first (and likely last) attempt at het. :)


End file.
